Dr. Dog, "That Old Black Hole"

Dr. Dog, "That Old Black Hole"

This is the most rollicking song ever created about hopelessly treading water. Against joyful swirls of electronics and playful percussion, frontman Scott McMicken of Philadelphia's Dr. Dog plots out his own Groundhog Day: "There's an elephant in my head and I tiptoe around it / There are eggshells on the floor, therefore I never touch the ground." Ultimately, he's content to "set out each day, never to arrive." It takes a special kind of band to sound this giddy about drudgery. Then again, "That Old Black Hole" could also be a metaphor for Dr. Dog's career or, more importantly, the nontrajectories of dozens of equally complacent C-listers — bands that dependably fill decent-size clubs and midafternoon festival slots but always seem one song away from accomplishing much more. Five albums in, Dr. Dog has evolved well past the Beatles and the Band fetishist it initially appeared to be, but it's always seemed more like a drifter than a trailblazer. Maybe that's why it's been professionally leapfrogged by aesthetically similar bands like Vampire Weekend, Fleet Foxes, and Local Natives. But "That Old Black Hole" sounds like a glorious rally cry, like a band finally finding itself. It's a hall of mirrors: It's the song that could pull Dr. Dog out of the very rut the song is about.

Air, "Seven Stars"

Air, "Seven Stars"

Because the incredibly rich pipes of the voice actor that busts in midway for an ignition sequence makes for the most memorable countdown in a song since "Major Tom." The guest vocal by Beach House's Victoria Legrand ain't so shabby, either.